The Rage Beat
by GeckoMoriaShadowLord
Summary: ZoSan, YukiSan. Zoro manages to score some VIP tickets to Bad Luck's concert for his hubby. But he can't stop the friction that erupts between the singer's man and his own when the two blond, chainsmokers meet.


Note: This is a crossover fic between the mangas _Gravitation _and _One Piece_ written for the sole purpose of pitting Eiri Yuki and Sanji together. Warning: This pairing is too hot, it may cause health hazards. Please take precautions in reading—like wearing goggles or perhaps a lab coat.

Sanji x Yuki, Sanji x Zoro, Yuki x Shuichi. M. AU.

_**The Rage Beat **_

~0~

Somewhere keys jingled mutedly and Sanji glanced over in time to see the apartment door open and a green head enter. The sound of the thunderstorm tearing the skies outside immediately permeated the small apartment; the pitter-patter sound of rain striking the roof and ground increased. There was a muffled sound of boots being pulled off and tossed to the ground and the flurry of an umbrella closing.

Sanji's hands paused on the half-peeled potato in his hands before he continued, and called out, "Take off your wet clothes. Don't drip in the living room or you're sleeping there."

"Yeah, yeah." The sound of a wet jacket hitting the small square of tile in front of the main entrance caused Sanji to wince and seconds later his partner strolled into the kitchen. Zoro had taken the liberty of divesting his chest of decency and the muscles of his wet, scarred torso flexed subtly with every movement. Zoro yawned briefly before placing the grocery bag filled with his purchases on the table and walking over to him.

"Back," Zoro said and leaning into him, kissed the back of his neck and slipped a hand into Sanji's back pocket, "There's the things you wanted. We good?"

"Yeah. Put them where they belong," he said, not bothering to shake off the wandering hands. "The cold stuff in the fridge—I don't want them to get spoiled."

"Hmmm…you never spoil me."

Sanji tried not to laugh and instead, shot an elbow into the muscled torso behind him, "The hell I do. You're lucky to be with me. Now go—hey, Zoro!"

"Damn it Sanji—kiss me—" Zoro's hand on the side of the face tried—unsuccessfully—to bring the lips in claiming distance.

"Later, no go—do what I said. Don't sulk," he tried to keep his voice serious, but the way Zoro stalked off to the bedroom made his voice crack into amusement on the last word.

"All right, all right, I'm going to take a shower. I'll be kissing you later. Check out what I left for you on the counter." And with that the swordsman walked off, already peeling off his green sweatpants.

"Moss," Sanji muttered before washing his hands of potato skins and heading toward the Barron's grocery bag. His hands stilled as he pulled out a head of lettuce. There was an envelope lying next to the bag. And not just any envelope—it was a fancy one. Thick, cream-colored paper with scrollwork running along the edges. Curious—he picked it up and turned it over. It only said—

_Sanji _

He opened it quickly. It had his name on it—so he obviously had the right to see what was inside. The first thing he pulled out was a card, likewise decorated. He flipped it open—and in familiar handwriting, the message was scrawled—

_Happy Birthday Shit-Love-Cook _

_I know it's kind of late but I wasn't able to get these any sooner. Sorry. _

_I love you. _

_A lot. _

_Zoro _

His heart did a slow flip-flop in his chest and he grinned. Idiot. Both of them. He put the card down and shook the envelope gently. Two smaller pieces of paper slid out and he picked one up before he choked on his own spit and popped his eyes out—unbelieving.

_VIP Invitation _

_Sanji Blue _

_Bad Luck Concert at the Red Line _

_June 24, 2011 _

The other one was exactly the same except it had Zoro's name on it. Sanji dropped it and again gaped at his own—_Bad Luck Concert Tickets! _Bad Luck—an electropop, technorock, gueriila-style music group which had come from Japan but had taken the world by storm—his most favorite band. He had wanted to see them since they had started touring the States but money had been tight. The Baratie was a classy restaurant, and not many people were willing to pay for a high-price meal these days.

But now—tickets to their concert at the Red Line, a swanky, new club in Hollywood only a couple hours away from Los Angeles! And not just any tickets, _VIP tickets! _The kind of tickets where you got box seats, catered seats, seats where you could _actually_ meet Bad Luck itself. Fuckin' hell! He was going to meet Shuichi, Hiroshi, and Suguru! And all because of that idiotic—that stupid—that incredible—that amazing man in his shower—

He threw the cold items in the fridge, not even bothering to see where they landed, or even if they had landed intact and he was stripping his clothes, pulling off his shirt and peeling his jeans off so that his skin shivered when the cold air hit him and the fine hair stood up in gooseflesh.

But then he was in the heated room of the shower and the moisture from the hot water reached out with warm fingers and curled the heat in his body and he was in the shower, the hot water hitting him and making the blond hair stick to the sides of his face.

And then his man was kissing him, doing things to him, doing hot things that were making him hard, making him cry out, making him love him.

~0~


End file.
